L'équilibre
by Jormundgand the Scathing
Summary: The title means 'The Balance', the meaning of which will become apparent into the story as it progresses. Part of the idea is based on Jungian theory, so... Yeah. XP
1. Un commencement d'obscurité

SPECIAL FFN EDITION AUTHOR'S NOTE ROFL:  
  
I do not hold to NiGHTS having long, Sailor-Moon-Ripoff-Type Hair, a jester cap, boobs, a lover called Reala, a lover called Megara, Kids, a Sword, a Spell'o'Lightningness 8, a loyalty to Wizeman, a crush on Jackle, A crush on Puffy, A crush on anyone, an evil Donovan, a good Reala, a FEMALE Reala, a homosexual Reala, a Homosexual NiGHTS, or a homosexual Wizeman...  
  
Or a homosexual Donovan.  
  
If you are disapointed by this... Well, I won't bother saying it.  
  
Suffice it to say, if you are going to write a review to complain that I'm not making NiGHTS a lesbian twin to Reala with long flowing blonde hair, enormous boobs, and a crush on Puffy, please don't bother. And now if all that unpleasantness is over, shall we proceed?

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**_Dream..._  
**  
The motes of dust shifted softly in the library. Each aisle lit by the gentle, muted light coming through the frosted and colour-stained window glasses. Here was the only place quiet in Twin Seeds tower. The only place that, if you sat there, listening to the absolute absence of noise, you could really believe it was not part of a hellish construct stretching above a barren desert.  
  
Thick tomes that hadn't been disturbed for years lined the shelves, the room smelled of dust and leather and rich, warm perfume...  
  
Jackle finished inhaling the incense that burned slowly in the two brass pots hanging beside the stone archway, and stepped onto the thick carpet. The library... His room. Let Reala and Puffy and Clawz have their castles and war halls and garish boudoirs. Ah... for the quiet order of a library. Books didn't yell at you and jump around, they lay there peacefully and let you open them up and look at them.  
  
The General reflected that, regretfully, not everything would let you do that.  
  
He turned his attention to a table to his right. It was swathed in black velvet and littered with small tools. In the middle of the scattered implements was... a small, flat sphere made out of gleaming metal, polished to mirror perfection. A section of the sphere's plating had been removing, revealing an unfinished interior mechanism. A wound spring was attached to a thin, notched band that triggered a series of levers that, as a result, let go of a spring.  
  
Jackle sat down at the desk and leaned over the device. Where was he again..?  
  
Ah yes.  
  
He picked a long, thin rod with a miniscule set of tweezers at the end and carefully placed one of the infinitesimally small eye-hooked rods and fitted it into its slot. Then the other...  
  
A tiny spring slotted into place, leaning perfectly and fitting against another of the four spring arms. A millimetre long bolt slid into place, clamped flat to fit with a tiny set of truly needle nosed pliers.  
  
The plate clicked into place.  
  
He leaned back and looked at it, satisfied with his work, satisfied with the feeling of a job well--  
  
Jackle's smile faded as something twanged sadly inside the compact disc. The thing made a small click and then one of the blades slipped out halfway. He sighed and set about making a new spring, changing the design a little.  
  
After a few minutes of twisting filament around frail rods with a pair of tweezers you needed a microscope to see, he set the new springs in place and laid the device on the desk... Nothing happened. Pleased at this result, he gently touched a plate with his palm. Still nothing, the gargoyle smiled, he grasped the device delicately between his thumb and forefinger and waved it briskly in the air.  
  
_Twaaang._  
  
Bah!  
  
He dropped the device on his desk in exasperation and stalked down the length of one of the isles of the library, then stopped and looked at a stained glass window. A picture of a tall figure, garbed in red and black, with his face painted in a grotesque parody of a clown's and a pair of black and burgundy mottled horns sprouting out of his head and twisting back and around.  
  
Reala, the Wizeman's pet. Oh how Jackle loathed the uppity djinn, prancing around with the proverbial roses strewn before his feet wherever he went. The Wizeman _liked_ Reala, the Wizeman practically fawned over him, it was Reala this, and Reala that, and how come you can't be like Reala, see him? He knows what he's doing and on and on.  
  
Jackle scowled at the stained glass, the artist had managed to make him look incredibly heroic, it was all rot, of course.  
  
Why didn't the Wizeman ever say _he_ did anything right? Why never a congratulation for him? Just once, just _once_, Jackle would have like to stand in the massive court and hear the words 'Well done, Jackle.'  
  
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His bad mood replaced by one of apathy and self-pity, the Gargoyle sighed and continued down the aisle. He looked at the shelves abstractly, hoping to find something to lift his spirits a bit. If he couldn't find anything, he would be oblidged to torture the next hapless mephit that pattered by his room, and that was getting boring, goodness knows.  
  
Hmmmm...  
  
_Histories and Titles of the Guardians from the third century to present times_ Definately not.  
  
_Brucelles and Adriarkan, the opposing mights._ Soppy fairy-tales.  
  
He paused for a moment, then began to rise off the floor, gliding gently upward to one of the higher shelves.  
  
Ahhh... This was interesting, "Mechanics and clock workings: A collection of notes, diagrams and tables assembled by A-r---k--" The name was obscured here, the gold leaf had flaked off decades ago.  
  
Jackle carefully, almost reverantly, eased the book off the shelf, and sailed down to the floor, stepping lightly onto the thick plush and walking over to a deep chair, he set the book down and glided to a cabinet, where he removed a heavy, pewter goblet and a dusty bottle with an ageing straw net woven around it. He poured himself a glass of the dark red, spicey liquor and then sat down on the chair to read.  
  
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He poured over the book, fascinated by the notes and blueprints for intricate clockwork devices, some even reaching _his_ level of craftsmanship, some even surpassing it!  
  
He paused at one entry and examined intensely before turning the book over and looking at the binding again. "Assembled by A...r...k..."  
  
He walked over to the shelf and searched briefly before removing _Brucelles and Adriarkan_. He turned to page 715 and began to read.  
  
It was interesting. It was _very_ interesting.


	2. Entrez, l'ombre

**Nix Entente:** Sorry. XD But seriously, this is on FFN.net, viz, fanfiction, so obviously it doesn't belong to me.  
  
But... Um... Sure. This fic not mine blah blah blah, universe created by Sonic Team. Stuff thingies. Whosit. End of Disclaimer. XD   
  
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NiGHTS glided through the air, it was fun. Everything was fun. Life was incredibly so. He dropped down out of the sky into a cloud and swooped up again on the other side, trailing wisps of vapour. He tilted as he soared up again, tilted over and over. He flipped in the air and as he let himself drop, executing a graceful dive into a cloud lower down. As he sailed gently over the Tor of Frozen Bell, he watched the sylphs play in the drifting snow. Sylphs were pure--if lesser--wind Nightmaren, related to Donovan, the wind Guardian. Since NiGHTS was a sprite, wind and water, he felt naturally kin with these playful Nightmaren who remained mostly untouched by the Wizeman's corruption.  
  
A few Nightopians danced around, since they were among the snow and air, they would probably mature to be sylphs or nymphs.  
  
The sprite waved down at the Nightmaren and then, decided on a whim that it would be fun to be somewhere new, turned and headed off towards Splash Garden.  
  
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_The dim light filtered through into the massive room from where light from a hole in the cliff face was reflected down by a series of mirrors._  
  
Jackle hurried down the dark hall, clutching the book to his chest protectively. Though the walls and ceiling looked like a natural cave, someone had taken great care to even the floor out and tile it with black marble. The hall was lit by strange symbols glowing off the walls.  
  
A few goblins scuttled out of the way for the General as he made his way to another hall, this time, someone had used granite to make smooth walls, and more of the gleaming black marble had been used for the balustered pillars lining each side of the hallway. An even hole in the ceiling was the entrance from outside for the Generals that flew.  
  
_Where the beam of light hit the middle of the room, something stretched up to meet it, spidery girders and wheels and cogs. Light gleamed vaguely off of strange filaments set in the floor. A massive case, made of steel bars, stood in the centre of the beam, with cables running from it on three points._  
  
The gargoyle reached the massive, arched, bronze double doors at the end of the hall, and kneeled respectfully.  
  
As his footsteps echoed away, he began to feel something probing into his mind, examining him to see if he was who he was. Jackle concentrated on the floor tile in front of him and ignored the unpleasant feeling as best he could. Abruptly, the presence left. There was a booming groan from the door as something clanged within the surrounding walls. A short pause, then the doors slowly moved open... Open into the Wizeman's throne room...  
  
Jackle hesitated only a second before stepping into the magnificently powerful efreet's presence, dropping onto his knee again and waiting.  
  
The marble floor here was a network of cracks, blue fire hissing out of it and streaming upwards into the haze where the Wizeman was.  
  
The Wizeman.  
  
The massive shape hung in the darkness above, the deep blue cloak shifted and swirled with the constant thermals. At its top was a small head, lightning crackled out of it, obscuring its few features. The head itself was blind, for the efreet's many hands served the purpose.  
  
One of the massive stone hands dropped out of the darkness and stopped in front of the gargoyle, a deep, almost liquid amethyst eye set in the palm of the hand.  
  
"Ahh... Jackle. What have you for me," the deep, molten voice purred, the eye watching eagerly for any forthcoming ideya. As it noticed the tome that Jackle was carrying, the eye narrowed, the pupil dilating slightly.  
  
"What foolishness is this?" It demanded irritably.  
  
Jackle held the book up for inspection. "I come to you, master, to offer knowledge I have discovered in the hope that it will aid our victory."  
  
The booming voice regained its calm, somewhat.  
  
"Ahhhh..." The eye withdrew towards the ceiling, and joined the orbiting ring that surrounded the Wizeman constantly. "Proceed..."  
  
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_Cobwebs lay over the machine, tangling in and over on themselves, dust lay like a carpet on the floor, but in spite of the obvious age, the room had not decayed, no rust graced the metallic surfaces, nor was there any trace of moisture in the room._  
  
_It waited_


End file.
